


Cold as it Gets

by mytimehaspassed



Category: Swiss Family Robinson (1960)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-10
Updated: 2011-08-05
Packaged: 2017-10-22 06:23:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/234864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mytimehaspassed/pseuds/mytimehaspassed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ernst had read about a ship wreck in a book, once.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**COLD AS IT GETS**  
SWISS FAMILY ROBINSON  
Fritz/Ernst; Fritz/Roberta  
 **WARNINGS** : set during movie; AU

  
Ernst had read about a ship wreck in a book, once. Fritz would tell him that he must have read about everything in a book once, what with all the books that he had read, and Ernst would shrug his shoulders and shake his head, but he’d know what Fritz had meant: Ernst would always read about things in books and Fritz would always learn by doing those things, his hands puckered and dirty and raw.

Ernst had read about an old Spanish warship that met its end at the bottom of the Atlantic, scattering jewel encrusted scabbards and shiny gold coins when the hungry waves had rolled over the deck. The men slipped to their deaths in the storm, the wind and the rain and their fists grasping for a hold on the swollen wood. None of the crew had survived, not like Ernst and Fritz. Not like Francis or Mother and Father. They found the bodies, though, the bodies of the men who later washed up on the shores of a neighboring island, their blue lips and bloated stomachs. The captain was still gripping a piece of rope that had come loose in the storm. It took three men to pry his fingers off it, Ernst had read, three men to unfurl the dead man’s hand.

He tells this to Fritz and Fritz says that that captain was an honorable man, going down with his ship like good captains do. “We went down with the ship,” Ernst reminds Fritz and Fritz laughs and says, “Yes. Yes, we did.”

Does that make us honorable men, Ernst wants to ask, but Fritz has already leaned over to blow out the candle, his lips hovering above the wick, his eyes on Ernst. Ernst turns away, the soft sheets burying his face, and the light goes out.

***

There’s always a patch of the tree house that needs to be re-thatched, a piece of wood that’s too unsteady for Mother’s liking, a piece that might fall through just as Francis bounds over it. Father will have Fritz and Ernst go into the jungle to find more bark and leaves and the strong, sturdy branches that are limber enough to tie the two together. Fritz will always ask if he can go alone.

Ernst will say, “Yes, Father, I’ve just started a new book,” and Father will get that pinched look on his face that he always does when Ernst talks about books and Latin instead of chopping wood or hunting. There are no uses for intellectuals out here in the jungle, no matter how many times they’ve needed Ernst’s knowledge for animal wounds or edible plants. No matter how many times they’ve needed Ernst.

“How can you possibly have a book that you haven’t read already,” Father will say. And Ernst will press his lips together tight.

“Come on, Ernst,” Fritz will say, his hand warm on the small of Ernst’s back, his fingers curling around Ernst’s arm. Ernst might protest just to feel the warmth of Fritz’ touch for a few more moments, the pleading look in his eyes, the soft way Fritz says his name.

It’s only because Ernst has grown immune to the delicate touch of his mother, he tells himself. It’s only because Ernst likes how Fritz’ hand feels strong against his skin, the muscles tightening, harder, threatening to swallow Ernst whole. Ernst needs the sharp pain of Fritz’ clutch like the captain needed the burn of the rope beneath his palm. Nothing more, Ernst tells himself. No other reason.

“Come on,” Fritz will say, and Ernst will follow, Fritz’ warmth sliding out of Ernst’s reach.

***

From building and re-building and swimming in the shallows of the ocean and eating only the fruits and animals with the best nutrition the island could give, Fritz grows a swell of muscles over his arms and chest. Ernst notices only because when Fritz lays in the hammock outside of their room, Fritz’ skin turning a golden brown that Ernst has only seen in the shine of libraries back home, the muscles jump and dance when Fritz pushes himself from side to side. The hollow of Fritz’ collarbone is filled with a shell that Ernst had found on the other side of the island, deep in the heart of a cove, and Mother had threaded a string from her dress through a crack in the side and given it to Fritz. Fritz had laughed and slung an arm around Ernst and Ernst had smiled and felt the butterfly living deep inside his belly jump to attention.

Ernst himself had felt the insides of his arms tighten with the work that they had accomplished, with the barrels they had slugged back and forth from the ship, from the large bamboo shoots they had carried from the center of the island to the tree house, building that wing just for Mother’s chest of coconut cups and stone plates. “No need to be uncivilized,” she had said, pointing the boys to the beginnings of a pantry for cutlery. “Every family deserves a room to display their good dishes.”

Father had laughed then and embraced Mother, spinning her around like a top in his arms. Fritz had smiled and Francis had pulled a face and Ernst had remembered what Fritz’ arms had felt like around him, his cheeks feeling so hot he thought he might be burned.

“Oh, Father,” Mother had said, and Father had enveloped her mouth in a kiss.

***

At night, after one of them has blown out the candle, Fritz will talk about the girls that he misses from home, the girls he wishes he could still court. Fritz will talk about the girls he had a chance to marry and the friends that he has missed and the parties that he has forgotten about, ever since civilization had escaped them the night the storm had caught up with their ship.

He will say, “Do you miss a girl, Ernst?”

And Fritz knows as well as Ernst that Ernst misses no such thing, having never been one for girls when there was always the anticipation of paper and ink underneath his fingertips, the promise of learning something he had never learned before. Fritz knows as well as Ernst that Ernst has never dreamed of girls like Fritz has, imagined the weight of a ring on his finger and the soft, delicate trace of a hand on his arm.

He will say, “Is there someone you wish you could have here with us?”

And Fritz knows as well as Ernst that Ernst has everything he needs right here. Even if it’s not the way Ernst dreams about this, even if Ernst doesn’t imagine a girl’s hand on his skin, Fritz knows as well as Ernst that Ernst has never wished for someone to invade their island, to ruin their harmony.

He will say, “Is there someone you wish you could have?”

And Ernst will mouth Fritz’ name over and over again, his eyes shut tight, his breath held tight in his chest, and Fritz will roll over in his bed, thinking Ernst has fallen asleep.

***

They kiss for the first time the day before they meet Roberta. Before they fight, before they lose each other, before Fritz leaves for good.

Father asks them to go hunting in the jungle for the wild boar that’s been chasing away their livestock, and Fritz reluctantly takes Ernst. Although, for once, Ernst is just as reluctantly letting himself be dragged along through the low lying branches and the soft foliage that tickles the hair on his legs. It’s not one of Ernst’s priorities to be gouged by a wild boar before his eighteenth birthday.

Fritz is very good at tracking animals, better now that he has the incentive to catch an animal for Mother to cook or end up eating leaves and fruits and nuts for dinner. Ernst follows with the sharpened stone Fritz had cut for him and wrapped around the edge of a bamboo shoot, just in case Ernst had got into trouble without Fritz there to help. Fritz has the bow that Father had helped him make, a string from Mother’s dress tightened around the ends. The arrows are sharp and deadly, Ernst had seen Fritz kill more than a few times with just one, severing the spine of a lizard or the sticking the side of a snake.

Ernst follows Fritz in the worn path of the jungle and traces his sweat-slicked back with his eager eyes, his hungry mouth. Fritz’ back flexes and moves and Ernst can feel the butterfly dislodge from its cage and start to dance.

Fritz loses the trail sometime after dusk, setting his bow and arrow down on a moss-covered rock and rubbing the callused bottoms of his feet. “Should we keep going?” Ernst asks and Fritz looks up sharp, like maybe he had forgotten Ernst was there.

“No,” Fritz says, and his face eases into a relaxed smile. “We’ll just stay here for the night, pick it up in the morning.”

Ernst glances around the jungle, suddenly aware of the sounds of the night, the bird calls high up in the canopy, the swishing of bushes on the ground. “Here?” He says, and he’s not sure whether he read something about exposure or not, but nothing has jumped to the forefront of his mind.

“Yes, here,” Fritz rolls his eyes and shuffles the few feet over to Ernst, his hands collecting on Ernst’s shoulders. “There’s nothing to worry about, Ernst.”

And Ernst knows just as well as Fritz that the jungle is no place for two boys who grew up in a house on a street with other cultured, civilized people who had never once set foot in a jungle before. Even with everything they had learned, they still haven’t found out every animal the jungle has born, every magical thing the jungle has made.

“There’s nothing to worry about,” he says again, and now his face is inches away from Ernst’s, Ernst shivering from the touch of Fritz’ hands, Ernst’s eyes squinting in the dim light. He takes a breath, but Fritz catches it for him, his mouth warm on Ernst’s, his nose soft and cold on Ernst’s cheek.

Fritz pulls back and grins, and Ernst stands shocked and shallow in Fritz’ arms. Fritz knows just as well as Ernst that Ernst had dreamed about that ever since they had landed on this island, ever since Ernst had forgotten the distraction of books in favor of Fritz’ touch.

“Nothing to worry about,” Fritz says one more time, and his lips are nothing but soft against Ernst’s. And Ernst never replies.

Next: [BUT I AM LOSING FAITH IN WHAT I SEE](http://community.livejournal.com/andletmestand/14608.html)


	2. But I Am Losing Faith in What I See

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Ernst leaves the jungle, he is dirty and uncouth, a boy who has forgotten the purpose of houses and cobblestone streets and the trite, polished niceties of dinner conversations.

**BUT I AM LOSING FAITH IN WHAT I SEE**  
SWISS FAMILY ROBINSON  
Fritz/Ernst; Fritz/Roberta  
 **WARNINGS** : post-movie AU  
First: [COLD AS IT GETS](http://community.livejournal.com/andletmestand/12366.html)

  
When Ernst leaves the jungle, he is dirty and uncouth, a boy who has forgotten the purpose of houses and cobblestone streets and the trite, polished niceties of dinner conversations. He knows how to build and sculpt and craft leaves and wood and bark into practical, useful things. He knows the knowledge of books and he knows the strength of his hands and he knows the way the weather turns and what storms the southern wind can bring. He knows the face of mother nature because this is what the jungle has taught him, what the shipwreck has given him. 

When Ernst leaves the jungle for Fritz and Roberta and the savior of civilization, he knows words and the way they are written down on the page, but he doesn't know how to say them anymore. He doesn't know how to talk without speaking his mind, without sounding out of turn, without passing over the polite phrases he's supposed to use. He knows more about wild animals and the crash of waves against the shore. He knows more about the splitting sound wood makes when it impacts with rock, he knows more about the slow, cold climb of water into a broken ship.

Fritz has not forgotten, but he has Roberta to steer him right, even if he would rather be on the island, even if he would rather know more about the sun's shadow and the time of day than what a woman likes to hear when he presses his nose close to her powdered skin. Ernst knows what he likes to hear, when Fritz slips the maid, slips out of Roberta's grasp because she has petticoats and lace frills to distract her, and climbs into Ernst's bed, his hands sliding underneath the covers, sliding over Ernst's stomach.

Fritz will mouth Ernst’s name over and over again in the place where Ernst’s neck meets his shoulder and Ernst will pretend Fritz is his and no one else’s and they will lie there for hours, maybe, hours of their skin pressed close together. And Ernst will tell Fritz stories from the new books he’s read and Fritz will laugh at the funny parts and they won’t ever speak of the shipwreck or of the island they used to call home because this, above everything else, is what they miss the most.

And there's civilization and then there's this and Ernst knows the difference and knows exactly what he would choose, a hundred, a thousand times over, when all he can feel is the soft heat of Fritz' breath on Ernst's cheek, the soft touch of Fritz' fingers and the way Ernst's mouth opens, the soft gasp he exhales. Ernst wants Fritz and nothing else, and if he has to leave the jungle for it, if he has to endure dinner parties and cocktails with guests who have never seen the inside of a cave or dove deep into the heart of an ocean for glimmering shells, then Ernst will take it.

Ernst will take it and never look back.

***

Roberta knows clothes and dolls and the way cutlery lies on a tablecloth, but she teaches Ernst all she can, anyway. She teaches him and he’s grateful for the things she knows and she smiles and tells him that he‘s really coming along, that he‘s really learning this, that he’s really growing. And he ducks his head and his smile is shy, but he won’t tell her that this isn’t something he wants, that he’s really only faking, because everything she gives him only pushes him farther away from who he wants to be, pushes him farther away from that boy who lived in a jungle, that boy who became a man. And everything she gives him, everything she teaches him, won’t be enough to show him why this life is better. Why this life is where Fritz wants to be.

He takes classes at the University and he reads books in the library and he prays in the cathedral and Roberta introduces him to girls his age, but where before he dreamt about these things, he dreams now about warm waters and the smell of the jungle after a rain shower. He dreams now about the loose dance Francis would perform as he climbed the ropes to his bed, about Mother’s soft laughter like music as Father danced with her at night. He dreams and, mostly, it’s about Fritz and, always, he wakes up with his fingers warm against his hip and his mouth open and swallowing the cold air in mute gasps, open and whispering Fritz’ name like maybe he’s afraid to say it, like maybe he’s not supposed to say it this way, with this much hunger.

Fritz never stays with Ernst in his bed, but Ernst knows it’s only because he’s never asked.

***

Roberta lives with her grandfather in a house that’s much like a ship, with the walls painted the blue green of an ocean and the wood beneath their feet as sturdy as planks and masts, creaking in waves with their weight. Ernst sees Roberta’s grandfather once or twice after they leave the island, once or twice before he leaves again to captain a crew that must feel lost without him, but the house swells with his presence, anyway. There are corners that are filled with his musky scent, there are rooms that still possess his watchful eye, and so when Fritz steadies a hand on Ernst’s back in the hallway, when he slides his mouth in for a kiss in the basement, Ernst feels the disapproval there like a cloud, heavy and hanging over him.

Roberta’s grandfather like a ghost who’s never left his home, Ernst feels the disappointment choking him like a lungful of smoke. And he doesn’t want this, has never wanted this, but he needs Fritz and Fritz needs him and no one will ever be able to understand that. No one will ever know what it’s like besides Fritz, besides Ernst, besides the suffocating warmth of a jungle that‘s watched them grow up.

And Fritz will feel the pull of Ernst, but Ernst won’t ever ask him to leave the life Fritz has built in the civilized world. And Fritz won’t ever ask Ernst to go back.

***

Ernst studies cultures and studies worlds and studies the writings of men that have traveled farther than the jungles Ernst has seen, farther than the oceans Ernst has swam in. Ernst reads and writes and tells only Fritz about the things he knows and it’s in there somewhere that he realizes why Fritz likes this civilized life. Fritz, who will trace fingers over and over the freckles that dot Ernst’s shoulders, trace over and over the lines on his skin. Fritz, who will listen without really listening. Fritz, whose eyes never light up like Ernst’s, when Ernst tells of the early explorers and their reign over the world, the early explorers and their contributions. Fritz, who has never seemed interested in the world Ernst knows, who has always taken what’s been given to him and dealt with it, made it work.

Fritz knows how to survive and that’s why he liked the island, because it was bountiful and sustainable and because they made it their own. This life, the life Fritz wants, it’s more than that. It’s mapped out already, it’s planned. Fritz knows what to do and how to do it and who to be and Ernst knows that’s the most important thing Fritz could ever ask for.

Ernst knows that this life is why Fritz left.

When Ernst tells Fritz he’s figured him out, his face buried in his pillow, Fritz’ fingers tracing over and over his shoulder blades, over and over his spine, Fritz laughs and says, “You think I like this life because it’s predictable?”

Ernst rolls over, opening his eyes, squinting to make out Fritz’ face in the candlelight. “Don’t you?” he says, and suddenly he feels stupid, and suddenly he feels unsure.

Fritz smiles, but it’s not beautiful. “You don’t know why I came back, Ernst.” He slips out of the covers, his feet bare on the floor, his hands reaching for his discarded shirt. Hs muscles are still strong, but not as thick as they were in the jungle, when he did nothing but climb and run and build all day. His skin is pale, but only because the sun here never really reaches the ground, only because the clouds cover the sky all the time.

Ernst hears Roberta’s laughter somewhere in the house, where she’s drinking wine and trading gossip with the maids, where she stands water warm and watches them sew together the holes in her clothes. Fritz hears her laughter, too, and stands still for a moment, like he’s afraid he’ll be caught. Like he’s afraid she’ll know, they’ll all know, and Fritz will be exposed.

Ernst looks up at him and bites his lip. “Will I ever know why you came back, Fritz?” His voice is nothing above a whisper.

Fritz doesn’t answer, doesn’t move, but he’s still looking at Ernst in that sad way he always does, like maybe he knows that Ernst is smarter, like maybe he knows that Ernst is more intelligent because of all the books he reads, but that Ernst will never know as much as Fritz. That Ernst will never be as wise.

Fritz swallows and says, “No.” He won’t look Ernst in the eye, and Ernst won’t ask him to, no matter how much he wants it.

And then Fritz walks to the door and leaves, the old handle creaking at the touch, the door’s hinges whining at the use, and Ernst feels naked and shallow on the bed.

***

Ernst knows that Roberta knows but doesn’t want to know. Ernst knows that Roberta might be just a girl, soft and weak-boned and small in her flowery dresses, but that she’s not stupid, that she can feel Fritz’ waning warmth, that she knows what it means when Fritz leaves a hand on the small of Ernst’s back when they talk. That she knows what it means when Ernst smiles big and wide when Fritz laughs at his stories, what it means when Fritz will leave the dinner table and head to Ernst’s room instead of Roberta’s.

They are engaged to be married, but not even Roberta, who was born of a captain and taught to steer a ship when she was small, who is the strongest girl Ernst has ever met, can stand the betrayal. Fritz will break Roberta’s heart as long as Ernst is around and Roberta knows that. Roberta knows that Ernst is the only one who stands between her and a husband who will never love anyone else, her and a husband who will stay with her and only her.

But, still, she never asks Ernst to leave. Still, she never asks Ernst to give her back the man she met in a jungle far from civilization, far from this place. Still, she never asks Ernst to give her back the man she’ll always love.

So, Ernst stops waiting.

***

“I’m leaving,” he says, and Fritz freezes on the bed. Ernst hasn’t planned this, hasn’t written down the thousand things he’s wanted to say, but only because Fritz will never give him the chance. Only because Fritz will never want to hear it.

“The Captain is sending a ship to the island, anyway, and I thought it wouldn’t be too much trouble if I was along for the ride.” Fritz isn’t looking at Ernst, but he doesn’t have to. Ernst knows exactly what he’s thinking.

“Roberta is sending out some clothes for Francis and the Captain is going to give me his old maps. I thought maybe you might like to give something to Mother and Father?”

Fritz’ voice is hoarse when he speaks, but it’s not warm. “How long?”

Ernst watches Fritz run a thumb along the back of his right hand, a nervous habit he hasn’t picked up since they were both children. Ernst watches Fritz bite his lip again and again. “How long are you going to be gone?” He asks, and the bed feels cold where they’re not touching.

“For as long as I can.”

And Fritz laughs, and it’s dark and it’s painful. “If that’s what you want,” he says.

And Ernst thinks it might be over, but he feels the swell of anger in him rise up. “You’re just going to give up? Just like that?”

“If you want me to,” Fritz says.

And Ernst has never wanted Fritz to give up on him, but he knows, like Fritz knows, that this is what he wants. That Roberta is what he wants. That this life is the life Fritz used to dream about when they lived in the tree house, that this life is what Fritz used to wish for when he closed his eyes at night. That, when Ernst was wishing Fritz would love him, Fritz was wishing for a house and a street and a fiancée to hold on his arm.

So Ernst says, “I do.”

***

When Ernst returns to the jungle, he is hardened and strong, a man who has lived through more than he should, a man who has never forgotten his home. A man who knows how to sail and build and cook and kill, a man who knows how to live on his own.

And when Ernst dreams at night, there’s only one name on his lips, a boy he’s left behind.


End file.
